Paris part deux part 4 of Sophie and Tara's story
by SophieDevereauxtoo
Summary: Tara runs into an old friend in Paris. Can she forgive for being the one left behind? This is a companion piece to Paris.


Paris Part Deux, Tara's side of the story

I practically ran smack into her as I hurried out of the stairwell into the lobby of my hotel. She never saw me. She was busy examining a so-so piece of artwork hanging on the wall. I opened my mouth to say her name but then I panicked and backed away quickly. I hadn't seen her in almost 2 years but she looked just the same to me. Same smoldering black eyes, same smoking hot body. She was working, I could tell. She was wearing a non-descript brown skirt and an oversized sweater. She was dressed to blend into the background but even in this plain brown wrapper I could still see the woman underneath.

I watched her as she wandered around the lobby, paying attention to things that no one had ever noticed before. Occasionally she glanced toward the elevators but mostly she looked bored. She never noticed me. I had learned a few things myself about blending into a background. Finally she left the lobby and went into the hotel bar. I followed her but, while she went to the front, I slipped into a booth in the back. I watched as she slipped off her sweater to reveal a white silk tank with no bra underneath. She took the rubber band out of her black hair and fluffed it out. No longer a wall flower, she was now the Prom Queen. She wanted to be noticed. All of the men sitting at the bar noticed her. She ordered her drink and selected her mark. She went to work. She said her name was Jennie but I knew that was a lie. She said she was from America while using a perfect mimic of my Kentucky accent. I found that amusing. I sat and watched her for a long time.

Two years ago she disappeared from my small bed in Italy. I looked for her for a long time. I searched Soverato, the small coastal city where we had met. I visited the island of Kephalonia in Greece where she said she had been working. I tried to remember the name of the town in Northern Italy where she had said she was from but I couldn't quite remember, I think maybe she never told me. I went to England and wandered around Oxford asking about an Italian named Portia who had studied languages there. The more heads that shook my way the more I began to know that Portia had lied to me about everything. I realized that Portia was never her name, that Portia had never existed. This hurt me the most. I had thought I knew who she was, that she loved me back. She didn't. She never had.

I threw myself into my work, using all the lessons she had taught me. I sought out other thieves and con artists and learned from them. I even managed to con my way into some CIA training where I learned the tricks that the spies used. I became a world class grifter. Possibly the best. Well, with one exception maybe.

I knew we would probably meet again one day and I wondered who she would be and who I would be when that happened. I tried to prepare my speeches, the ones where I begged her to come back, the angry ones that would make her hurt as much as I had, the indifferent ones where I didn't recognize her at all. As prepared as I thought I was, when the time came I was as speechless and dry mouthed as I had ever been in her presence.

I was working in Paris myself. I was looking for a book, a very old and very valuable book. Word was that a small bookstore owner was holding a copy of a rare edition of an obscure Shakespearean play. Books and Shakespeare weren't really my thing but I had a buyer who would pay a pretty penny if such a book could be found.

It only took me several days hunting dusty old bookstores to find the one I was looking for. The owner of the shop, and the book, was an older gentleman with kind eyes and a wicked sense of humor. I spent some time in the bookstore planning my heist and talking to the shopkeeper. I began to enjoy my time spent with him and showed up several times a week with a bottle of wine to listen to his stories of the old days. He showed me his book every time I came to visit. It was his most treasured possession.

He invited me to a party, just as friends of course. His old mates from his theatre days would be there and maybe I could make some good contacts. I am always in search of good contacts so I agreed to go and we had a fabulous time. I was beginning to feel guilty about my plans to steal the book from the old man. Apparently I do have a heart, no matter how mangled or how deep it may be buried.

I told him my name was Giselle. I told him I was an actress currently working on a very small production here in Paris. I told him that I loved all things Shakespeare. In reality, I am not a fan of the theatre at all. Sitting quietly in the dark for hours is not my thing. I like to move. I like to dance and I like to have a good time. She dragged me to several plays while we were together. She loved the theatre and I went only for her. She made it very clear that making out in the dark was not ok but a few fingers wandering up the hem of a skirt was fine. It made going to the shows more bearable.

I finally made a decision while watching the woman at the bar work her magic. I would confront her. I would go with the anger that was rising up in me. I would tell her what exactly I thought but, we would do it entirely on my terms, not hers. If I went to her, I would be playing her game again and I knew exactly how that would end. I signaled the bartender to bring her another drink and that I would pay.

The bartender delivered the drink and gestured my way. She turned to me and raised her glass in gratitude. I did not move. She seemed puzzled by this. She couldn't see clearly enough to recognize me and her invitation to join her had failed. I imagined this didn't happen to her often and it threw her a bit. She turned back to the man at the bar and pretended that none of it bothered her. I sat and I waited, never taking my eyes from her back, feeling my anger strengthen my resolve, fighting the urge to run to her and wrap her in my arms. At last the gambit worked. She dismissed the gentleman from the bar and marched over to confront the mysterious stranger. She forced herself into the booth, trying to be aggressive but I held my ground. She spilled her drink in my lap making me jump up and out of her way. Damn. Nothing ever goes as planned. I watched her face as she slowly realized who I was. I held her gaze and let loose with my pre-planned speech.

"Hello Portia"

She looked stunned, her mouth open and, for once, speechless. I continued quickly before I lost my nerve.

"Portia. But that's not really your name is it?" "Is it Jennie?" Is it something else? I thought I knew you. Damn it I was in love with you. But it was all just a game to you wasn't it? A little fun. Taking advantage of me. Using me and then just leaving me behind like I was yesterday's trash."

I got up and left the booth quickly so she wouldn't see the tears that came to my eyes. I had to leave or I would have had to grab her and hold her and tell her that I didn't really mean it. That I still loved her and nothing she could do or say would ever change that.

She didn't say anything to me as I left, she couldn't even look at me. I wonder what I would have done if she had.

I stayed in my room for days, maybe it was weeks. I didn't want to work or to eat. I just went through the motions of living until I could finally think clearly. I needed to leave Paris. To get far away from her. I needed to go somewhere else and be someone else and try to forget these feelings welling up inside of me again. First I needed to visit the bookstore owner. I wasn't going to steal his book but I did owe him some sort of explanation for my disappearance. I bought a bottle of the red wine he loved and took it to him.

As usual, the bookstore was empty when I arrived. The storekeeper was happy to see me. He missed me. He was worried about me. I tried to explain that my play was done and it was time to move on. That I would come back to visit one day. I heard the door open and saw a flicker of recognition in the old man's eye. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see her standing there.

A range of emotions ran through me. Shock. Anger. Love? How the Hell did she find me? Why did she even look? I finally settled on indifferent curiosity. "What should I call you?" "Jennie will work" she answered softly. She suddenly looked so sad to me. I wanted to touch her, to pull her to me and whisper in her ear all of the things I knew she wanted me to say. I just stood there. She said she owed me an explanation, that we should go and talk. I agreed though I had no idea if or what I could say to her.

We left in silence and walked for a long time. We didn't touch and we didn't talk. I missed the times we used to walk close, holding hands or wrapping our arms around each other's shoulders and waists, feeling the heat coming off of each other's bodies, talking about everything and nothing all at the same time. There was no heat between us now. None of that familiar electricity. There was only emptiness and silence and hidden tears.

We finally stopped a table outside of a small café. I sat and I waited. I still didn't know what to say or how I react to what she might to say to me. I needed to be strong. To stand up for myself. To make her realized what she had done to me. I reached for a piece of bread and tore off pieces but I couldn't bring myself to eat. Finally, I found some words to break the silence. "I really did love you, you know" I tell her. "I really did". "I know" she says softly. "And I loved you too, in my own way." "Then why did you leave me?" "Why did you lie?" "Why didn't you say goodbye?" I felt tears coming and tried desperately to hold them back. "I don't know why" she says to me, her eyes glassy from her own tears, "I guess I just couldn't." "I didn't have the guts. I'm a grifter, Tara. A thief. Its who I am. I need to move, to stay one step ahead of my past. I can't afford to be anywhere or anyone for any amount of time. Its just not who I am".

This I understood. This is the most important lesson she taught me to be. She taught me how to be strong and cold and ruthless, all things that are important to survive in our dangerous world. She taught me to be who I am now. I feel sad for her and her choices and for mine and for everything that we could have been. "I don't know who you are Jennie or Portia or whatever your name is. I thought I did but now I don't." I whisper. She replies in a whisper of her own, almost too soft to hear "I don't know either." She touches my hand and my heart breaks all over again.

I grew tired of talking about her and about me but I was not ready for her to go again, to just let her disappear into another night, to leave me alone again. We chatted about nothing for hours, just enjoying the company. We didn't talk about Italy or feelings or any of the things we should have. There was no heat and no noise between us anymore. Just quiet. We made plans to meet for lunch the next day though I had no idea if I would show. Or if she would.

Late that night, the anger returned. I was a different person now. She was different. She would never change. She made that clear with her little speech. I'm not sure she could change even if she wanted to. I thought about all the lessons that she had taught me. How I had learned to be the perfect grifter, never letting emotion get in my way, never falling for anyone else's game. It was time for me to be the person I was supposed to be, to stop letting her manipulate me with my own feelings. It was my turn.

I showed late to lunch. I wanted to hurt her, to let her think I wasn't going to come. I wanted her to be off her game. I had something I wanted to tell her. I wanted to tell her that I still wanted her. That I still needed her. That I could still love her if she would let me. I didn't tell her any of those things. I told her that I still thought that she was beautiful. That I wanted to be with her still. That we would no longer be friends but we could still be lovers. I had to protect myself, keep my walls up. I looked into her eyes. I saw her surprise and her confusion and her hesitation. I saw that she still wanted me too. I saw her sadness for what she had brought me to. I slipped, just for a fraction of a second but I know that she saw that too. She saw the real me that I was trying so hard to hide. She lowered her eyes. She told me yes.

We didn't have anything to say after that. We sat in silence, neither of us willing to make eye contact. Finally, she took a chance. She reached out to touch me. She would always be the braver of the two of us. My skin crackled where she laid her hand on mine. I had set the rules and now we were going to play the game. We walked to my hotel, through the lobby she had been so interested in. It seemed like a lifetime ago. We stood close in the elevator, trying to feel the magic that we once had.

Once in the hotel room, there was no time wasted. No talking. No dancing. No seduction. We made love like animals, tearing and clawing desperately at each other, not stopping until we both we had no more to give or and no more need to take. We fell asleep together but separate. I missed the little bed where we held each other tight until morning and still longer. Where we would tell stories and make plans and just enjoy being together.

I didn't expect her to be there in the morning. She was. We made plans to meet again. We would have what she would call 'date nights', more appointments than actual dates. She would let me know when and where. She took my hands in hers and moved to kiss me good-bye. She looked deep into my eyes. She saw everything I was determined to keep from her. I still loved her. I would do anything for her. I would put up with this ridiculous arrangement we had set up just so I could be in her life. I looked into hers and I knew that deep inside she loved me too. We would be friends again one day. Friends with benefits. It would have to be enough for both of us.


End file.
